Brothers
by Laura Schiller
Summary: 1989. Germany is finally reuniting, but what does that mean for the East?


Brothers

By Laura Schiller

Based on _Hetalia: Axis Powers_

Copyright: Hidekaz Himaruya

It was nighttime, but Berlin was lit as bright as day. People were drinking, dancing, singing in the street, hugging strangers, and not caring who watched them. They were ignoring the police on both sides like so many decorative statues. They were carrying hammers, pickaxes, wrecking balls.

The Wall was coming down.

One house, however, was dark. Ludwig made for it with all his speed. He prayed, after all this time, that it was not too late.

Russia, of course, was standing in the doorway, looking grim and immovable as ever. Ludwig wanted to punch him.

"Please," he said instead, "Can I see Gilbert?"

"He is dying," said Ivan, matter-of-factly, as if he were talking about the weather.

"It's that bad?" said Ludwig, taken aback. "But I suppose it would be," thinking of the celebrations he had seen on the way. "But that's why I need to see him, don't you understand?"

"You might upset him."

" _I,_ upset - " Ludwig stopped himself from shouting just in time.

 _You locked my little brother behind a wall for over forty years,_ he wanted to say. _Your soldiers stole his people's land, raped their women and beat their men. You made Gilbert so afraid of me, he couldn't even look me in the face._

But he knew if he said this out loud, the argument would never end. Germany had been cruel to Russia too, during the war; he would never forgive himself for the things he'd allowed his army to do. They had too much history together. At some point, the fighting had to stop.

"He's my brother," said West Germany softly. "I just want to say goodbye."

Russia stared at him with piercing violet eyes for a long moment … and moved aside.

"Thank you," Ludwig said over his shoulder as he rushed through the door.

/

East Germany's room hadn't been redecorated since the seventies at least. Splashy yellow flowers adorned the wallpaper, faded and peeling; flimsy shelves lined the walls. The only brightness came from a collection of Olympic medals gathered by the nation's athletes, and from a magazine cutout of the famous astronaut, Sigmund Jaehn.

Gilbert sat in a chair by the window, still fully dressed. He didn't look ill, only pale and heavy-eyed, as if he hadn't slept. He wore the uniform of the Free German Youth organization: blue trousers and a matching blue shirt with a rising sun emblem on one sleeve. He appeared as a teenager, no older than fifteen; no wonder, given how little autonomy he'd had. Ludwig could remember him as a fully grown man, a dashing soldier known as Prussia cutting a swathe through Europe, but that was centuries ago.

"Hello," said Ludwig, walking in with caution. "Do you remember me?"

"Ludwig?" The child looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Yes."

"The Federal Republic."

"That's me."

"Comrade Russia said you were evil." Gilbert frowned. "He said … he said you were America's puppet, and America was going to kill us all with atomic bombs someday."

Ludwig made a face. He could only imagine the scene Alfred would make if he heard that.

"America says the same thing about Russia. Do you believe him?"

"I did, at first," said Gilbert. "But then … "

Ludwig followed the boy's gaze to an empty cardboard box sitting on the desk, a box postmarked with his own address. He remembered. He'd sent oranges in there, chocolate, coffee, the occasional pair of Levi's or American music album. All those things which were commonplace in the West, but such luxuries in the East.

"You got my packages?"

"Not all of them. The _Stasi_ didn't let them all through. They said it was for my own safety, in case you were trying to poison me."

Like a real teenager, Gilbert rolled his eyes. For a moment, Ludwig could imagine the trouble the young nation could give its leaders under different circumstances, the radical changes that could have happened if they weren't about to reunite.

"We don't have to do this," Ludwig burst out. "Reunite, that is. Can't you change on your own? Reform your economy?"

"If you're too cheap to take care of my citizens, just say so," East Germany flashed. "Capitalist."

"That's not what I meant and you know it! I just hate seeing you like this. I couldn't forgive myself if … " _if I killed you._

"Oh." Gilbert's face softened. "But that's not your fault."

"Isn't it?" Ludwig gestured sharply to the empty package. He was the one sending the Easterners hope, after all. Broadcasting his radio and TV channels into their country, making them long for what they couldn't have.

"My people are losing faith in me, that's all. A few fanatics are all that's keeping me alive, but not for long. Not after tonight."

For the first time, Ludwig noticed a gradual change in the light that filtered through the window. Instead of white moonlight, there was a touch of gold in it … and it seemed to be shining _through_ Gilbert's thin body.

"It's too early, damn it." In the absence of anything else to hit, Ludwig punched a wall. Plaster crumbled around his fist. "They haven't even signed the papers yet."

"That's not how it works." Gilbert smiled, that _I-know-better-than-you_ smile that had been so maddening to all his brothers for so long.

"Look after my people, will you?"

"I will." Ludwig knelt in front of the chair and held his brother's transparent hands.

"Don't let any of them go hungry or unemployed."

In a free-market economy, that was a lot harder than it sounded, but – "I'll try."

"And don't let America bully you."

"There's no danger of that, believe me."

Gilbert's smile widened. He looked younger than he had in centuries. He was glowing, so bright that Ludwig had to squint to look at him.

"My people are happy," East Germany whispered. "I can feel it."

West Germany hugged him.

Moments later, he found himself holding an empty uniform.

Somewhere out on the street, an old Trabant engine was sputtering to life. Its owner was escaping, finally, to see the world that had been forbidden for so long.

Germany sensed the weight of thousands of new citizens, their hopes, their fears. He didn't feel ready for it and, yes, he resented it. But the least he could do was look after them, as he had promised.

For his brother.


End file.
